Mud Hearts
by Cheshire Catz
Summary: Trashed the sweater and ditched the heavy liner' - she's ready to show herself to the world.. well - Shermer High... With the shadows of her former "Basket Case" reputation lingering - Allison dating the school's star athlete doesn't play well.. Can a single school cafeteria baking DISASTER bring Allison and Andrew closer together despite social differences?
1. Musings About Monday

**Chapter One**

**_Musings About Monday_**

* * *

_"I don't wanna be alone anymore" I'd confessed my voice had fallen to a whisper. For a moment all I could hear was the frantic drumming of my heart, combined with the ticking of the twenty minutes too fast library clock. Knowing my own mouth had just revealed my inner demons to somebody I hardly knew, was positively surreal. Had I said something wrong? Did Andy understand? In that moment, I was relying on Andrew's opalescent gaze for an answer. I was waiting._

Waiting for a sign..a smile... a smirk, a snicker, a grimace.. _anything._

He merely shook his head and uttered softly "You don't have to be.."

_"You don't have to be"_ I muse to myself while picking up some papers which scattered my bedroom floor. Cursing once, I give up my attempts at tidying my floor and instead kick a pathway through the clutter.

It seemed so simple, the truth was; I didn't have to be alone. But being alone was all I knew! My reclusive demons had ingrained themselves into me long ago, shaping who I was. The term "alone" was _all_ I was. Then only** today**, suddenly somebody, other than my shrink had told me that I didn't have isolate myself, and a light lit up my seemingly dark world. Something happened in that library between all five of us. I knew whatever it was, **"it"** touched the hearts of all of us and altered us for the better.

Rain pelts heavily outside, rapping on the window's like a mysterious stranger. I move one of my dark grey curtains, a subtle glow of light flooded into the room. Puddles were forming on the concrete outside, reflecting the sky which swirled into an ocean of white and grey. A ginger cat, perhaps the only color in this god forsaken neighborhood darted behind a wall to safety. I live in a dull neighborhood, quiet, mysterious, and lonely. I felt safe and warm in my darkened bedroom, with the heater turned up.

With the cover of darkness shielding light from my room, I was free to think. I found solitude in the darkness, here I was not judged, here only my thoughts existed.

Catching my reflection in the glass, it was like I was looking at a completely different person. My new look has Claire written all over it _-of course._ With the flecks of pastel pink and a light hand with the makeup, I look.. normal..? When I looked into the mirror this morning, I was a stranger to myself, hidden beneath layers of ill-fitting clothing and heavy eyeliner. Now looking at myself, I was also a stranger. I toyed at the flamboyant headband sitting on my head, instantaneously I thought of a dove's fluffy tail and grinned.

"Frilly and white.." I noted flicking at a feather, "Well.. I guess it's not that bad"

I heard Andrew's voice and I felt a stupid grin twitching at my lips _"I can see your face..."_

_"Is that good or bad?"_

_"...It's good"_

Wrapping Andrew's blue jacket tighter around my shoulders, I headed over to my bed. Which was a tattered mattress placed on an aging cream carpet. Strewn on the mattress, one flat pillow covered by a bleach stained pillow case. In the heap of fabric was my grey duvet, and some more crumpled papers. Falling down stupidly on the mattress, I immediately felt the hard floor through the dead sack of springs and feathers. A crash of thunder rattled the clouds, and shook a thought from me.

_I don't have to hide from the world anymore._

I'm not a serial killer, and never broke _serious_ laws.. Well except..that one..actually no - ha.. Never mind! Overall, **I'm not a bad person!** Sure, over the years I've become estranged from society, and some what alien.. but isolating myself didn't make any rational sense.. right? Sitting on my little bed, in my little dark room, my mind swirled with fragments of the day and these fragments were deeply entwined with my own screwed up emotions. Before I knew it, these fragments began to whirl vigorously and my head pounded with this dynamic whirl pool. Little did I know that this was my own personal calm, before a storm.

Plucking my journal from my school bag, I hastily flipped the front cover and began writing. Channeling my emotions through drawing and writing was perhaps the only useful thing my shrink had told me to do. A jolt of impatience sparked in my hands, and before I realized what was happening, my hand was racing across the journal's blank pages as I confided in them. I knew if my journal were my mother, she would be pleased to hear of this news. Her teenage daughter is finally showing normal teenage behavior, little Ally is thinking about boys, school, and had her very first kiss! I rolled my eyes at these mediocre "teen troubles" but then my eyes softened and twinkled in recollection as I remembered the kiss - My cheeks warmed significantly. It was _**perfect.**_

_Passing by, the March air was chilled - but refreshing as it promised the arrival of spring. His eyes, oh those eyes! The elaborate and embarrassingly sappy metaphors I could use to describe that boy's eyes! _I burned a brighter red as I relived the memory. Hell! I'm glad my journal isn't my mother. I'd never talk to my mom or dad about something so personal! We're hardly on a "good morning - good night" basis..

The sound of pen against paper faltered a little.

...

Just then I spied my newly swiped item, Andrew's state champion patch placed in arms reach. Grinning like a Cheshire cat I ran my fingers over the circle, I chuckle recalling Andrew's lack of acknowledgment when I ripped the patch off his arm in the parking lot. .. I'm not sure what possessed me to rip it off his arm though. Our eyes locked caught in a perfect reverie..a brilliant streak of lightning flashed through the sky.

_"blue eyes"_ I noted grabbing for a light blue coloring pencil.

Andrew and I's conversation took me back to the library when I was doubled over the book-case sulking. I felt as if I were dreaming when he asked me if I wanted to talk. Suddenly an unsuspected cold spell pierced me though not from the March rain. I felt cold with vulnerability. Andrew was the first person in the whole of the universe who I've confided in - besides my shrink of course. The first person who had run after me when I was upset and asked if I wanted to talk about my issues. The first person who actually gave a-

"Shit!.." I exclaimed as the blue lead suddenly snapped.

I thought about Claire, and suddenly the word "cherry" popped up as it's Bender's nickname for Claire. I fumbled through my pencil-case for an auburn color as well as a crimson pencil.

What seemed like minutes had actually been two hours that had passed by in an outlet of grey, forest green, ashy blonde, red and the annoying sound of pencils clashing against each other. The faint sound of my breath was drowned out by the dancing droplets outside.

"There!" huffing in relief, I slammed the final pencil down.

I had drawn all five of us, from head to torso. A warm uplifting feeling settled in my tummy, a sort of golden feeling, like a fire. What's this feeling..? Why am I still giggling and grinning like I'm under the influence? Is this pride? Woah! I was proud of this piece of work.

"... this is _so_ weird" Internal changes were happening to me at the crack of a whip as of today, March 24 1984.

Speaking of changes, I wondered what would happen on Monday. Almost every teenager hates Mondays, but the moment that dreaded word presented itself if my mind, that's when my starry-eyed, warm, bubbly feeling dispersed.

It was a question furry, my head hurt and I felt like a junkie. I wanted to think of Andrew's kiss, and have a starry-eyed rush of Oxycontin. I just couldn't!

When all Shermer high's students flood through the doors, will it be different, or remain as it always has been? Like sheep, everybody would follow the laws of there cliques. Claire would return to her clique, blatantly ignoring us folk who are glued lower down on the social hierarchy. Brian wouldn't, I wasn't sure about John. Claire and him were getting pretty friendly in the parking-lot, surely she wouldn't just ignore the guy she kissed and gave one of her diamond earrings to..right in front of her father!

And Andrew, what about him? He'd go back to doing everything everybody tells him without question or any sort of independent thinking. He'd ignore us, or cut us up in front of his friends if any outsider were to talk to him. I hear his friends boast about the girls they've been with as if they were toys rather than human beings. Would Andrew brush off our kiss and condemn it to some sort of worthless street slang?

These social boundaries, I curse them.

A physical pain arising in my chest, and the tears began to fall. My own rain drops leak down my cheeks, removing the makeup Claire so delicately applied. There goes the blush in a trickle of warm hues.. her light application of eyeliner..smudged. I cast aside the head band, and my waves of hair fell in front of my eyes.. My shield was returning.

I exposed my heart, and I rose to cloud nine, now I know the truth I'm falling. Now there is nobody there to catch me.

Covering my face I feel a pang to the stomach.. and a slash through the heart..

Rain pounded at the windows, whispering, taunting and mocking me.

"This hurts like a bitch" I whispered and I dropped my journal no longer caring about my drawing.

In the girl's bathrooms, I always overheard along with the - whole freaking school; Claire's friends crying and moping about with makeup running down their faces usually cursing guys and relationships. All because a boy broke their hearts. Being the cynical person I am, or was..I always rolled my eyes at their pathetic faces, their shaking shoulders and dramatic analogies. Now karma has slapped me upside the head and now think I understand their hurt. A tug-of-war game was going on in my chest, and I knew once that rope snapped and the players fell flat on their backs, my tears would flood.

Bringing my knees up to my chin and curling myself into a tight ball. I was trying to stop myself from crying, a strong impulse rattled in me to run away. Yes, I wanted to run from my problems, run away from home, run away from it all. My bag sat woefully in the corner, I could run away "_My bags are packed_" so to speak from a literal point of view. Would I as Brain asked subject myself to the violent dangers of these Chicago streets? No of course I wouldn't. Shit! I'm scared of venturing around my neighborhood, so I guess I couldn't.

Running away seemed so enticing, like a siren's harmonious call.

"Running away" I mumbled into my knees.. the only time I've had to run from trouble was today. Running around the hallways was perhaps the most fun I've had in..well forever. All five of us became one homogeneous group, our stereotypes did not exist - we were equals. A sad laugh escape my lips as I recalled the mad rush..

But.. what would happen to me on Monday? I mused for ages, and my breath even out. Finally opening up my eyes, sun-light was piercing through the fibers of my drapes. I knew change was in order. I stretched my cramped body and it creaked and strained in relief, with a quick flick of my wrist I through back a curtain.

"I'm not gonna be alone anymore" I declared into the air, I was going to show everybody who I was. I'd been labelled a "Basket-Case" and rightfully so, given my strange behavior. I was ready for Monday, and I was going to show Shermer High who I was underneath my moth-eaten clothing. I've already exposed the essence of who I am to.. well myself. Like a child during "Show-and-tell" who presents an object with pride. I was going to present who I was to the world, with pride.

With Andy's jacket still around my shoulders, I tried to promise myself I'd throw it to the side of my room because I knew that it was no use clutching onto something - to somebody that wouldn't care about me come Monday morning. I was stronger than this. Outside the rain began to soften and a gentle sun-set revealing it's self to the world.

Now all I had to do was cry as I was left with the realization that come Monday morning; Andrew will forget about what happened. He'd forget about me. Of course he would.

They all would.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **_

_**What did you think? I'm pretty excited about the next couple of chapters :) Reviews are very much appreciated! xoxo**_


	2. Imagine

**Chapter Two**

**Imagine**

Lemme' clarify something;

I was not expecting to run into Andrew Clark's arms on monday morning. **I most certainly WAS NOT** expecting dazzling fire works and Shermer High to burst into song and dance.

**_No._ NO. NO!**

I wasn't even expecting to exchange a look of familiarity with Andrew Clark, John Bender, Claire Standish, or even Brian Johnson in passing from English to Science.

I honestly thought that when all of Shermer high comes together from their weekend everybody would return to their cliques and even the slightest memory of "The Breakfast Club" would be pushed aside... Like it never happened.

Well, you probably know it. Just picture the typical high-school Monday morning scene. No?

That's alright._ I'll just paint a little picture for ya of what being a "Basket Case" in 'Shermer High' is like. _

Lining the walls like two rows of obedient soldiers are the shiny red lockers. Always the same annoying couple that the whole school knows are together would very often be fornicating without shame against the lockers. Of course not giving a shit about how awkward the poor freshman s may feel as they awkwardly look towards the floor and shuffle away.

_Yuck!_ Making out at 6:45 AM on a Monday?

...Ah, young love.

Very ironically shouting down the hallway in her beige high heels is the sex-ed teacher, Mrs. Greene. _Click-Clop, Click-Clop_

Now, we speed down the hallway. More people will be filing in through the doors with pink cheeks from the cold morning air. Round' the corner is a huge bulletin board. Upon this heap of cork, pinned - are _masses upon masses_ of fliers scrawled with information for sporting activities. Hockey - football- soccer- basketball- wresting - the works.

In big bold sparkly letters, _"Vote for prom Queen"_ **smack** in the center of the wall. Pushed out to the side of the board would be the activities that only a few care for.. For example, _"Debate Club"_ with the last weeks topic of debate scribbled on the paper, these fliers were usually plain in colour and crumpled up.

Well, I think my little flier metaphor pretty much sums up the social hierarchy of highschool.

I read a subtitle on one of the debate club fliers. Apparently, Shermer High has a problem with computer hacking. I don't know what _"Hacking"_ is, but I'm pretty sure brainy Brian knows all about it. Perhaps I'll ask him about it.. I mean. _That's_ if we're still friends.

Let us shuffle along the corridor that leads down into the activities hall.

In the girl's bathrooms, my god the smell. I mean, don't get me wrong. Perfume is great! But eight different brands. Polluting the stagnant air. Is. Not. Great. Rather an asthma sufferer's worst nightmare.

Have you ever noticed that every girl has their own signature way of applying perfume? I mean, we've got the ones that delicately spritz themselves, in their pretentious lady like manner. While we got the others that shimmy their way loudly through a cloud of fragrance. Usually wearing outrageously large bangles on their wrists, that jingle and jangle.

When Alison Reynolds, me. Enters the bathroom, the girly chatter falls to a low hushed murmur. They are no doubt exchanging bitchy looks about my odd appearance. When the freak show is over, the clattering off cosmetics in a makeup bag will rattle the air. In the mirrors, reflected would be a cluster of "Princesses" carefully applying pink lipstick to pouted lips, or smoothing their perfectly tamed locks.

Just brushin' up before first lesson.

"Ugh, we've got gym first!" a princess whines as she looks at the lessons she has for Monday morning. As if time has been stopped, the girls stop and stare at one another.

The Princesses usually devised a plan to cut P.E and go shopping, just like Claire did.

6:55 Am, Oh! Five minutes to first period. More students file in through the hallway now. A pissed off looking student - usually a girl with average grades, pretty eyes, and enjoys cracking her knuckles. Will power walk through the hallway beholding the:

_"I Woke Up Late, Had To Bolt Out The Door - Left My English Assignment, Forgot To Put On Deodorant, I Don't Give A Flying Fuck If I Bump Into You In My Dramatic Walk Of Burning Rage, As I No Longer Give A Rat's Ass About The Social Etiquette Of Murmuring 'Sorry' To This Jack-Ass, Fuck you, Fuck this, Fuck that, Fuck it all, WALK FASTER! ALSO I Refuse To Look On The Bright Side Of Life At This Current Point Of My Existance...Because I Am The Middle Child . NOW GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY"_ Face.

It's a hell of a face.

I have noticed that these kinds of people simply cannot be defined. As there is not a class, or stereotype they fall under. This is usually because he or she is a senior student with better things to worry about than their social status on the high school ladder. Or they have developed a better understanding off themselves, and know who they are. They have confidence. It's amazing.

Andrew and his rowdy group of friends clad in their Letterman jackets, laughing and passing a ball back and forth. A towering group of immature boys, with overly large egos, and a healthy blood pumping glow in their cheeks. Of course an attractive bunch.

Depending on the weather; determines where the "Sports" or "Jocks" will be. If the sun is shining gold, it's mildly warm, and not flurrying down snow. Then the "Sport" cliché will have positioned themselves out on the football field. If it's pissing it down, or dangerously icy - the "Sports" will obviously be inside.

Can't be slipping and breaking bones, when they've got fathers to reap praise from can they?

Regardless of where this group are, they are always causing havoc. Last week, Stubby whipped a ball so hard at Andrew that he had no choice but to dodge it than catch it. The football smashed into Bender's locker denting the metal like a crater. The death weapon ricocheted off Bender's locker, hitting a girl who was carrying one of those pretend babies for Health and Social Care class.

Of course, the robot baby let out a howling set of sobs as it hit the ground. The "Sports" roared with unkind laughter. Let's just say the girl looked utterly pissed off, running down the hallway to retrieve the doll's decapitated head.

"Ah! Whadda throw!" roaring laughter erupted from the Sport's and stupid high-fiving followed.

In the library Brian and his geeky group of smarty arty friends will be pouring over pages of extra extension physics homework. Only revealing their freckled cheeks and glinting braces when they had to discuss their answers with each other.

Ten minutes into first period, along comes Bender. Strolling calmly through the field - odd matching socks - a lit cigarette in his mouth - and late as usual.

Then there is me.

Just me - teetering along, head down. To put it into perspective: I'm that lone tumbleweed in your dad's favorite western film. I'm that bit of the film where you scrunch up your nose and say: "What. the fuck. was. **that**?"

Got an idea of what Shermer High is like? You better, cause I'm gonna get on with my story now.

I guess I'll just begin with, the cafeteria's sticky disaster regarding the chocolate cakes.. a recipe now nicknamed _'Mud Hearts'_

**Author's Note:**

**Another chapter, done and dusted! Tank-you for reading :) **

**Forbidden Basket Case and Sporto Romance is on the way.. xoxo**


	3. Purging

March 24 1984 

Saturday Night

_Dear Diary,_

_..Hi, it's Allison. I haven't wrote a formal diary entry in a long time..I guess it's cause I've had nothing to say.. or I couldn't put what I was feeling into words. **No scratch that - I have a-lot to fucking say.**_

_I'm here now. **Fuck this.** _

_I've only just realised that all my existence on this planet, has been me** trapped inside my own head.** So many days have passed by and with it, the slow decline of my youth. I'm sick of wasting all my time. When I was eleven I wanted my parents to love me. Back then, my parents were simply people who I would happen to pass by on the stairs from time to time. Each time I saw them around the house, I never made the connection that they were my parents - they were simply people who would scream and shout at each other and stumble home drunk..I wished them to speak to me, give me a hug - I wanted a mother and a father. But then I got older, and I understood that they didn't care. Nor will they ever. I've had to learn to deal with this, I mean what else can you do?! But I very clearly haven't dealt with this.._

_All my memories are of me:_

_Wishing.. for the pain to go away..the loneliness. Hoping everything would get better.. wondering when would my life would begin.. Then I would fall asleep into a short uneventful slumber only to wake up too soon. Each day is supposedly a "fresh beginning" but never me. I wake up, and the same pain continues. As if my whole life is meerly a timeless vault of never ending darkness._

_I go to bed each night, and wonder when will I wake up in tomorrow._

_When will my life, begin._

_Is it my fault I am this way? Did my parents ignore me because I am not good enough? ... Who could love a basket-case...? But I can write with my toes, and play piano.. I learnt this myself, without the aid of a parent or anybody for that matter.. That's pretty impressive, right? _

_But dear diary, I think my darkness is being shattered by soft light. From the moment I entered the library to serve the detention.. I felt different. Is this what it's like to be alive..? Dear diary, I think I'm coming alive. _

_My name is Allison Reynolds, and I'm a basket-case... but strangely.. I'm okay with that. _

_**THIS DIARY ENTRY MAKES NO SENSE** to future Allison or anybody else reading this, but oh my god right here, and right now.. It makes perfect sense._

I steadily opened my eyes to the silencing hush of my bedroom, as if the objects in the room were silencing one another to keep me asleep. The gentle whistle of water running through the pipes in the wall was soothing, somebody must be taking a shower I think to myself. My movements are gentle and slow, I was afraid of breaking the perfect tranquillity that was washed over me.

Before I closed my eyes again, I remember seeing a flicker of robin egg blue and sighing as I buried my face into the soft fabric.

I guess I never went through with the plan of tossing Andrew's jacket aside after all. Yet oddly... I was okay with that.


	4. Nice To Meet You, Dad

_**Chapter 4**_

_**Nice To Meet You Dad**_

* * *

_Dear Diary, my father spoke to me. OH MY GOD._

* * *

Sunday morning started out like no other.. wake up, quickly shower, listen to whatever tunes were on the radio, get dressed (except this time in much more feminine clothing plus I also applied a coat of mascara and a few dabs of rosy lipstick) after I'll eat a breakfast fit for the typical sugar junkie - obviously the usual bowl of _'Cap'n Crunch'_ cereal with a few _'Pixie Sticks'_ sprinkled on-top to sweeten that bitch up. Then I'll head back up stairs, to grab a few things before escaping from this **god-forsaken** house.

After having hastily shoved the last mouthful of cereal down my throat - I dumped my dishes in the sink and bolt upstairs. I had to be quick, my parents would come home any minute from their night out drinking, gambling, fighting and god knows what else.

I flew up the stairs surprised at how much mobility I had, without the baggy clothes weighing me down.

My sneakered feet rounded the curve in the stairs, "ALLISON!"

I smelt him before I heard him. Exhaling deeply before cautiously turning around I'm suddenly face to face with my father of whom is rocking back and forth on the stairs. Absolutely reeking of scotch, the stench was strong enough to make my eyes water. The man which I'm supposed to call 'Dad' wore a chequered shirt which was unbuttoned, revealing a red flush which crept up to his neck. An indication that he had been drinking heavily. He continued to sway. Gingerly I took a step away from him so I was standing on the step below me. Suddenly he lolled his head back as if he were a baby and could not support his own head, the weight of his head.. I guess threw him off balance and he stumbled over his own feet.

"Woah there" I say mockingly, not really caring whether or not he falls or not. He deserves it.

He stumbled forward, and he stares at me with red eyes.. ah fuck he was stoned too. Suddenly he raised a hand out to me, his fingernails had a slightly purple twinge "I'm - I - I'm okay... I'm okay"

Throwing his head back a deep burst of laughter erupted from him, it shook me a little.

"Iemmetellyou summin'" My father slurred staring crookedly at me, "I neeever wann'ed aaaaa kid"

A scoffed trying to camouflage the hurt that plagued my face "Yeah, well too bad"

At that dreadful moment I realised in my whole sixteen and a half years of life that my dark brown eyes were in-fact inherited from my father. A father who had just told me two seconds before, that he never wanted me. My throat clenched, and my arms suddenly felt cold. I broke eye contact with him as the pain that lashed through my stomach felt as if an angry dragon were lashing it's tail against my insides. I felt my eyes burn, though not from the stench of his alcholic breath but with tears.

_I truly was a mistake. An accident. Unwanted. A waste of space. Worthless. _Everything I wrote in my diary was being clarified it seemed in this brief encounter on the stairs.

_"There is no point staying here.. I need to run away" My thoughts taunt me, echoing in my ears, ricocheting off my brain and repeating themselves over..and over again. Run-away, nobody loves you. _

Unloved.

Suddenly, before my heart-beat grew too loud to hear anything..I hear the most strange but wonderful words in the world.

My father tossed his head back, throwing his shaggy hair away in the same manner as Bender. He then locked his gaze on my face, and repeated himself.

"I neeever wann'ed aaaaaa kid" he said slowly then grinned widely at me. A person was no longer before me, it was a smug and cruel cheshire cat with fangs for teeth and a sword for a tongue. Before I could scurry away hurt, my father - _my dad_ softly says "Never wannn'edd-d a kid, buuut.." then clumsily reaching a hand out smiling he poked me on the forehead "I guess, yu are awll'right"

Then he staggered down the hall, I watched him as he tripped into his bedroom laughing at.. well whatever he was laughing at.

A warm tear trickled down my face, though not with sadness this time. I looked in mirror which hung dusty and cracked on the wall. Apparently, I had also inherited my dad's drunken Cheshire cat grin.

My dad then stuck his head out his bedroom door his brows furrowing in confusion "W-who was that" he waved his hand in front of his face as if trying to conjure up a word in the dusty air "Boy-ehh on.. friday?"

"A-uh, just a guy" I mumble my gaze drifting to the side as I try to avoid that fucking creepy leer he had when he was drunk.

"Hetree-in'yougoo'?" It was a question I'm sure.. but his words were so slurred I just ignored him. One thing you should know about Allison Reynolds is: **I do not deal with drunk people.**

Whatever, I ran to my bedroom and pushing the door open. I quickly scanned the room for my blue shoulder bag. As I flung it over my shoulder I grabbed Andrew's hoodie and suddenly the memories of Saturday's Detention came flooding back to me wrapped in that butterfly in your belly feeling. I must have looked like a fucking idiot running my fingers over the fabric, blushing and smiling like a psycho. I wanted to see Andrew again sooooooo badly. As I turned the hoodie over I heard a crunch, like the rustling of a gum wrapper you've left in your pocket.

"Oh.." I mouth as I stuck my hand in the pocket and pulled out a bit of paper. I quickly realised it was a note.

My fingers suddenly acquired a mind of their own attacking the note open.

Call_ me, 626-584-5723 _

Plodding down the stairs and out the front door into the open air, grateful for the warm spring weather. Without thinking I shove the hoodie into my bag along with the wrestling sports patch, with the note still in my hand I push it into the pocket of my denim skirt.


End file.
